


Our Hopes and Expectations

by Luthor



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Season Two AU, post-breaking of the curse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthor/pseuds/Luthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first night that it happened, Emma had thought it some cruel attack on her mental state.  But then it had happened again – another sighting – and the theory of it being just some quirk of Emma’s mentality became as elusive as the figure dancing in the woods itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "these woods are lovely, dark and deep" – Robert Frost

The first night that it happened, Emma had thought it some cruel attack on her mental state.

Blood laced with the cool taste of Jack Daniels, she had spooked, like a bird sensing the presence of imminent danger, and flitted back into town, where her fears were vanquished with the hum of her Bug’s wheezing engine and the return of the streetlamps.

But then it had happened again – another sighting – and the theory of it being just some quirk of Emma’s mentality became as elusive as the figure dancing in the woods itself.

Emma had stood just outside of her car, two firmly planted feet and a cluster of trees between them, and had sworn she could hear the figure singing. It was a woman, who drew from the moon its borrowed, silvery light and made it a warm amber sheen that clung to her body. Emma hadn’t seen her face before the figure’s song had lured her in, caused her to take that leap from tarmac to soil, and dry leaves had crunched underfoot.

If the woman had seen her, she made no noise, nor did her singing waver for the entire duration of Emma’s ride back into town, where the Bug’s metal frame had howled like wind chimes, carving every note until it was hollow.

The song had haunted Emma, bouncing around the idleness of her mind. Whenever she found herself remotely close to relaxation – a rarity, considering Storybrooke’s current state – the song had returned, pouring from the walls, murmured from a voice somewhere deep within her pillow.

Sunk from the shoulders-down in Mary Margaret’s claw-foot tub, Emma had allowed the song to seduce her. She saw the figure behind her eyelids, felt the presence of two puckered lips – a natural pink, she imagined – against her forehead. When the washcloth floated into her thigh, it was a hand with red-painted nails that was guiding it, drawing lazy circles in the water. A fragrance began to fill the room, leaking in from beneath the door, both earthy and sweet.

She had been so sure that the woman was there with her, that when Emma opened her eyes it came as a shock that she was in the bathroom alone. By the time she had realised that the singing had stopped, it was too late, and no amount of force could bring about the memory’s recollection.

The only sound that filled the bathroom was the rhythmic ticking of a leaky faucet, and the now familiar mutterings coming from next door, the bedroom’s walls recently painted, its shelves lined with children’s books and plastic figurines.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

The next morning marked a first for Regina, and she was both parts shocked and infuriated when she sprang from the bed, smacking at her lifeless alarm clock, late.

Late, to what, was a question Regina had asked herself all morning, as she fussed to make up the lost twenty eight minutes, sacrificing both time in the shower and a solid breakfast. But it meant returning to the routine she had rarely deviated from since arriving in Storybrooke, and Regina would be damned if she lost that, too.

Draining the last of her coffee while applying mascara, she finally caught up to her routine. Chasing time, however, had given her the optimistic goal of leaving her house before eight, and it was already ten to.

Placing the mug among the scattered lotions and blushers that littered the vanity table, Regina reached for the hairspray and applied generously. The bottles and brushes clattered as the spray was returned, and Regina’s eyes flicked to the alarm clock out of habit, but its face was blank.

She’d realised that she was out of batteries the week before, when her vibrator had cut out just as she was beginning to climb towards a climax. She’d smacked the vibrator against the side table, but it had only given a last, fickle hum before tiring completely.

With her legs spread and her body exposed to the dimly lit bedroom, she had tried to remember the last time she had done a full shop. Her vegetable garden was coming along quite nicely, now that she had no job to occupy her weekdays, but she could not be fully self-sufficient without the monotonous house hold objects the mayor’s manor required of her – and she wouldn’t be breaking Henry’s promise any time soon.

It wasn’t that she was afraid to show her face in Storybrooke’s finest retail outlets – or perhaps it was. And that sudden realisation had annoyed her more than her failed orgasm.

Regina blinked and swore, now fully in the present, when she saw the block-ended flicks that excess hairspray had rendered on her ends. She reached for a comb, too quickly, and the mug toppled off the end of her vanity. When she reached down to grab its four shattered pieces, her fingers came back red.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t only curiosity that brought Emma back to the woods, and in plain daylight this time, if the weak glow of an overcast dusk could be called _light_.

She had parked a way away from the exact spot she had happened upon the figure the previous two nights, and despite two long weeks having passed since that first sighting, Emma found the spot where her tires had bitten into the soft soil separating forest from road. One boot toed at the upturned soil, the preservation of her tracks a blatant reminder of the bell jar that sat over Storybrooke, trapping the residents like rats.

Whatever this figure was, Emma wanted to know what it was doing here – whether it was a threat, something the townspeople ought to be aware of. She had returned to the woods almost every night of the week, almost subconsciously nearer the beginning, but now with purpose.

The drive home from work was never a memorable part of her day, and Emma was sure that she could find her way back home, and safely, while blindfolded – a theory she was unlikely to test. But the route had begun to change, of late, and by the time Emma found herself on the road out of town it was too late to pull a quick U-Turn and change destination.

So far, her search for the dancing figure had proved futile.

For all her fears, however, Emma had brought the safety of the town to the forefront of her mind – a task that had become easier with practise over the last few months – and she was determined to wait this dancing figure out whether it meant camping out in her Bug every night for the rest of the week. But she hoped it wouldn’t come to that – her years of sleeping beneath the roof of her car were long since behind her, and the bones in her back had already grown perfectly accustomed to her bed back at the apartment. Even falling asleep on the old sofa in her living area was enough to cause a kink in her spine.

Having already text Snow to warn her that she’d be late in picking Henry up (and she was more than thankful that her parents had moved out, even if it meant taking an extra ten minutes to get home tonight), Emma leaned back so that she was almost perched against the hood of the Bug’s bonnet and folded her arms against her chest, exhaling hot air into the dark space between her mouth and the collar of her red leather jacket.

Her eyes scanned the forest, which was beginning to croak and buzz with hidden life. She imagined all the creatures she was unaware of in the dark, and a shiver chased down her spine. She’d almost be satisfied with this dancing woman being nothing more than a figment from her own imagination, but stubborn as she was determined, Emma wouldn’t be leaving this spot until she spotted her again.

She blew again into her collar, felt the hot breath sinking into her chest, and waited.

 _And waited_.

Emma heard the woman before she saw her.

The air was bitter and cold, and Emma had shrunk into herself enough to preserve what little heat she could hold inside the worn leather of her jacket. The cold had brought a light sheen of water to her eyes, and it made the trees before her waver and sway, as though the roots themselves were being uprooted, the branches reaching, trunks lurching, trying to grasp her from the side of the road and pull her inside. And then she’d blink, and the trees would jump back to the soil, leaving no evidence of their attempted escape.

Emma only realised how dark it was when she brought her phone out of her pocket to check the time, and the light from its screen had blinded her. When she looked up, again, the forest was empty and dark.

Before her eyes readjusted to the night, Emma was beginning to feel hopeless in her quest. She was running on whatever caffeine still remained in her bloodstream, and the last dregs of her determination, the latter of which was beginning to leave a sour taste in her mouth.

This is useless, she thought. If the woman – figure – _thing_ – was coming, it’d be here by now. I should go back – Henry’s waiting, he’s probably tired. I don’t think I can stand having to wake him up from Snow and David’s sofa again and help him back to the car. I’m spending too much time on this shit, when I should be focusing on him – my _kid_ , for Christ’s sake.

Her eyes flicked up to the tops of the trees, dark webs against the sky, and then back down to the barely noticeable gaps between the trees.

But what if this thing in the woods is more dangerous than it seems?

A hopelessness threatened to pull Emma inside of her own mind, but something kept her from caving in. She closed her eyes, and felt suddenly at ease with her predicament. She would find the woman, and she would return to Henry, and later she’d even be able to explain her absence to him as a necessity. And she was sure of this, as sure of it as she was sure that the wind was singing through the leaves.

It took her a moment later to realise that the song she heard this time, a direct replica of the one that had been haunting her for all these weeks, only stronger, fuller, was not a part of her imagination.

Her eyes opened quickly to a blurred vision, and Emma’s body locked into position, poised with adrenaline. She peered out into the woods, and felt her knees shake as she caught the trail of the singing, its source moving from somewhere deeper in the forest than Emma was able to see.

She pushed herself away from the Bug, grasping out for the song, and even as she feared whatever creature it was leading her to, she felt secure in its melody – secure and warm and wanted, and had the ridiculous notion that perhaps the woman was Snow, or the image of her mother she had carried, until recently, from the sleepless nights of her childhood.

Emma stopped only when her toes broke past the barrier into the woods, and she felt the presence of those looming trees – suddenly taller now that they were up close – dwarf her. She was not alone, and felt the company of the forest, as well as something other – something bigger. For a second, she might have been able to convince herself that this is where the perimeter of Storybrooke came to, this right here, the invisible line running beneath her toes, was the line that parted Storybrooke from that outside world.

But standing there on the precipice, Emma was sure that they had all had it the wrong way around. Behind her, a wind rushed, and she felt Storybrooke was suddenly empty, and all life was draining into the woods to be preserved. She almost lifted a foot and stepped fully inside, but became aware of the action and stopped herself. Just as she was about to take a step back, fearing the pull that the song had on her, the woman appeared from between two trees.

Her back was to Emma, as though she too felt that there was a wall separating the woods from all that was outside it. Or not aware, Emma thought, as she watched the woman twist around a tree – once, twice – then move onto another, winding her hands over their barks as though each bump and groove told a line, and she was singing its story. She continued to sing, words Emma was so familiar with and yet could not understand. She had though it a foreign language, at first, but when she had tried to sound the words out phonetically, she would lose her voice, as though this language was not meant to fall from human lips.

Emma was sure that the figure was oblivious to her presence, and that gave her confidence when she felt her legs shaking beneath her. She managed to spot what the woman was wearing as she came into full view through partings in the trees, and where Emma had thought she was bathed in the moonlight, the silvery sheath was revealed to be a plain, if not oversized white shirt, its sleeves rolled up almost to the elbow.

Something about the image scratched at Emma’s skull, and she frowned, toes clenching inside her boots, as she sought out the figure past the trees. She seemed to have disappeared from view, and Emma felt herself panicking, but the singing remained – a little farther away now.

Sucking in a breath, and without thought, Emma stepped forward and placed one foot past the edge of the forest. Her lips parted as though to shout, but whatever noise she was hoping to make died in her throat when she felt movement just ahead.

Before she could retract her foot, feeling perhaps that she had triggered a change in the figure’s docile nature, a woman appeared before her. She had a face that Emma saw and yet could not take in, as though the image there was blurry, or protected by a veil. The woman had one arm wrapped around the bark of a tree and was leaning away from it, as though swinging. Her other arm slowly began to lift and outstretch, until Emma realised that she was being offered a palm, its red-tipped fingers pointing towards her chest.

While Emma’s fight or flight instincts warred, she remained petrified to the spot, and took her internal stalemate as an opportunity to graze her eyes up the woman’s arm. She was slender, and not at all as pale as the weak light of the moon had first made Emma believe. Her skin was rich and blemish-free – all bar, Emma suddenly realised, the little scratch halfway down her upturned middle finger. She had cut herself, but it was an old cut, and still looked clean despite the trees that she had been sliding against.

It was only then that Emma realised the singing had stopped. A coolness rushed to her chest, as though strips of ice were coming from the woman’s fingers and shooting directly into Emma’s heart. She looked up, dizzy, and the mirage was cleared. She knew this woman. Oh, she knew this woman well.

Regina Mills stood before her, beaming. Her teeth caught the light, which slipped over her incisors as though the moonbeams themselves had snagged there like a fine cloth. Her palm remained outstretched and offering, and Emma stared dumbly between it and those two, bright eyes, the darkness of which suddenly seemed liquid. Emma saw her own reflection on their surfaces, and felt she was drowning.

Her body finally decided on a reaction when she felt her fingers slipping into Regina’s palm, and she stepped back from the woods with a repressed shriek. Her hand clawed into a fist and swung back so fast that it smacked her in the chest, enough to leave a dull ache that remained with her for the scrambled, panicking fight with her car door, and the dazed drive back into Storybrooke.

When she arrived at her parents’ house only ten minutes later, Snow asked her what had made her so late. But Emma had only followed David out to the car, Henry sleeping in his arms, and had thanked them for watching over the kid.

When she started the car to leave, her fingers were still shaking. 


	2. Chapter 2

Regina had a way of dealing with the newly un-cursed Storybrooke that Emma had come to understand – intimately.

Since discovering Regina half-naked and in full tree-nymph mode, Emma had tried to keep her distance, but there was something about the woman that kept her coming back. It was the song that she hadn’t heard in over three nights, and it was the downturned twist of Regina’s mouth, the lingering hand against her stomach that signified that Regina was feeling the loss of _her_ Storybrooke more than she was willing to say.

And for all that she was willing to say, Emma would rather she didn’t.

Emma had always thought Regina a snake, but now the image in her mind was shifting.

The Mayor was created for the sole purpose of running Storybrooke, born from Regina’s curse just as all the others’ personalities were. But the town was no longer willing to be ruled by their fears.

Snow had stepped in as mayor, and while she wasn’t as productive as Regina had been, on paper, she had the people’s favour.

Discarded, the skin of the Mayor hung loosely around Regina, and Emma saw each and every unravelled thread that Regina was desperately clinging to – as though she could bury herself deeper into this existence and recapture the Mayor’s power. Emma was waiting for the moment that the image caved in altogether.

Regina wasn’t a snake, she was just a sheath of shed skin; the sole remaining thumbprint of the woman who _did_.

And Regina knew that, Emma saw. And knew that Emma knew, too, for whenever Emma tried to get close, Regina would dance away from her so quickly that Emma would remember the nights in the woods, and her body would lock into place before she was able to chase after Regina.

But that was just fine, because when Regina disappeared Emma’s mind would settle, and a voice would waken. _She’s up to something_ , it would say. And for all her wishing that Regina could recover from her dark past and be the mother Henry needed her to be, Emma believed it.

Getting close to Regina would mean unravelling whatever plot she was currently working over, and then Emma wouldn’t be able to just ignore the possibility that Regina’s Evil Queen had made it to Storybrooke, after all.

By day, Emma watched Regina, following her from venue to manor and back again. But by night, her mind ran free through the cool dirt trails underfoot bare feet.

She had consciously returned to the edge of the woods twice, and on both accounts stared off into the forest waiting for Regina to appear. But she never did, and when the wind blew through the trees it wasn’t the rustling of leaves that Emma heard, but the hysteric wails of the forest, now irrevocably empty and mourning Regina’s presence and her song.

She had left disappointed, but checking her rear-view mirror – just in case.

 

* * *

 

 

Regina was aware that she was being followed – and not exactly surprised by it, either.

For all her _skills_ , Ms. Swan couldn’t sneak up on rock in that eyesore of a tin can that she drove. The sound of the engine starting up alone was enough to wake the dead.

At first, Regina had tried to have fun with her. She supposed this was Emma’s way of making sure that she was up to nothing wicked, and on that account Regina had nothing to hide.

She would take unneeded trips to the grocery stores, the library, even retail outlets, forcing herself on especially when she felt uncomfortable in the situation, and arrive home each time with an item or two that she neither needed nor cared for.

But the Bug’s engine would always sound particularly rattled whenever it was driving away from around the corner of her manor – a safe distance, Emma must have assumed – and aggravating Emma Swan was amusing. At least, it was for a while.

Then Regina began to recall their past arguments, the disagreements that had her up in Emma’s face. When she could see Emma’s hands twitching for something to grab a hold of – her shirt collar, her throat?

It was sick to miss it, but then Regina never claimed to be perfectly sane.

She began lingering for longer than necessary inside changing rooms, toilets, until shopping attendants would tentatively ask – from where _they_ considered a safe distance – whether or not she was having any trouble with a zip. When Regina would resurface again, Emma would still be there, inside her Bug, the yellow glint of its bonnet barely visible through a window, parked past a hedgerow or a delivery truck.

Why won’t she come inside? Regina wondered. Why not confront me, if she suspects I’m up to something?

It finally hit Regina one morning that Emma could be afraid of her.

As absurd as it was, it became a theory that Regina was desperate to test. Her jaws had closed around Emma Swan, and she wouldn’t be letting go until she had her answers, whether that meant shaking them from Emma’s back pockets herself.

For all the confusion over why this self-dispatched task was so important to her, Regina couldn’t help but revel in the sight of Emma Swan choking on her drink when she took a seat opposite her in the centre of Granny’s Diner.

Only after she had cleared her throat past a sudden and debilitating coughing fit had Emma really looked at her, seeming for all the world a child caught with chocolate around her mouth. One thought registered in her mind, forming into a cool lead bullet as it slipped past her throat and settled heavily at the base of her gut: Regina knew she had been following her.

The question was: for how long had Regina been on her trail?

Seeing the flash of understanding in Emma’s eyes, Regina figured there was little need for small talk. She placed her bag on the table beside her, flicked both straps over the same side, and folded a leg over her knee.

“You seem surprised, Ms. Swan,” She began, head tilting forward. “Had you paid more attention to your remarkable disguises, your sleuthing may have uncovered my mastermind plot by the end of the week.”

The words fell over Emma’s brain like a veil, and it took her a moment to realise that Regina was smiling across at her.

It was a different smile to the one that lit up her face in the forest – not pleasant at all, though Emma was thankful for that. She could still convince herself that the Regina in the woods and the Regina sneering across from her were two separate entities.

Still, it was unnerving.

“Whatever keeps you busy, Regina.”

She said the words with a nonchalant shrug, but even Regina saw the awkwardness to her pose as Emma slid back against her chair, hands clasped before her on the table

As a silence forced its way between them, Regina took advantage of Emma’s open posture and really observed her. There were purple circles beneath her eyes, like two thumbs had exerted pressure on the sensitive skin there until it had bruised, and what little colour Emma usually had to her cheeks was missing.

Regina’s eyes dropped to the table in front of her, where she would expect a basket of fries or a burger to be – half eaten with the interruption. Instead, there was a tea-stained mug and more than a couple ripped sugar packets. Her concerns instantly went to Henry.

“I am intrigued.” Regina threw the words past her lips, combating the other phrases that vied for acknowledgement, such as ‘You had better be taking good care of my son, Ms. Swan, or so help me,’ and, ‘Your diet’s about as promising as your detective skills.’

The ‘however’ that didn’t quite make it past her lips carried in the air between them, and both women watched its ascent as though it was a balloon filled with Regina’s hot air; as though she shouldn’t care what this woman sitting across from her had to say  – and she _shouldn’t_.

“Just what is it you’re hoping to find me in the act of?” Regina finally finished, and took no great enjoyment in the way that Emma’s mouth set in a grim line.

So there was a ‘mastermind plot’ that she was apparently cooking up between pulling turnips from the ground and internally debating whether she was or was not beginning to feel the slow crawl of agoraphobia gnawing on her ankles.

The question made Emma’s stomach jitter uncomfortably, and her mind supplied none too helpfully, ‘ _skipping naked in the woods_.’

Though she had failed to yet find any evidence of Regina’s ‘evil scheming’ bar her little moonlit dancing, and she felt unsure as to how to answer. And so she didn’t.

She leaned forward with a confidence she didn’t quite feel, and moved the mug out of her way, her attention on that. Finally, crossing her arms over the table, she met Regina’s gaze head on and blurted, before any internal filter could stop her, “You don’t have much to do nowadays, huh?”

Regina’s expression instantly changed.

Emma watched the muscles in her face tighten, as though a mask was being pulled tight around her features, so tight that at any second now Emma was half expecting it to burst, and for Regina’s face to fall through and crumble.

Vaguely, she wondered what Regina looked like when she cried.

“I may no longer have a job, Ms. Swan, but I occupy my time far better than most people in this town.”

Regina’s eyes were bulging, as though her tear ducts were following orders of not to let a single drop slip outside and make itself aware.  

Her words registered to Emma as a jibe – she had been following Regina around, after all, and yet the slap the words should have carried was sorely missing. It made Emma draw confidence from Regina, and something else – something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“You call making seven trips a day to buy shampoo and kiwis a good way to spend your time?” She asked.

Finally, Regina’s smile returned – the ugly sneer that, this time, Emma couldn’t quite take relief from.

“Anything to keep you busy, dear,” She almost drawled, “It’s nice to see some things haven’t changed.”

While the barb was delivered, Regina’s features shrunk from the admission. She was actually shocked to find that it really _was_ nice to find that not everything had changed with the breaking of the curse, even if all she had to go on was Emma Swan’s nine-to-five deficit.

The confidence drained from Emma as quickly as she had borrowed it.

“You knew I was following you from the start,” She said, and knew as soon as she said the words that they were true. The wasted trips around town – the days Regina would check out a new book from the library every goddamn hour – flooded to the forefront of her mind.

Regina nodded her head, and with the illusion of confidence shifted in her seat, leaning back against the chair.

“Really, Ms. Swan, I’d thought you’d wanted to be found out, the way you would park your car outside every building I inhabited.”

She watched Emma’s reaction, her shocked expression inducing a premature victory, and leaned closer still. Emma felt her words as though there wasn’t a table between them, but Regina was directly up in her space, face to face.

“You’ve had your fun, now _stop_.”

Emma felt Regina’s claws in her as though she was a little plastic bobbin, the thread being pulled off her in chunks. But despite the threat in her voice, this was relatively tame for Regina Mills; Emma had been expecting more.

So, what? an inner voice questioned. Regina finds out I’m practically stalking her and just… tells me to stop?

That other, pin-prick of an emotion washed over Emma like the crest of a wave, and she finally registered just what she was feeling.

_Disappointment_.

She stared back at Regina, at those two empty eyes and the façade of togetherness, and felt repulsed.

 

* * *

 

 

Regina hadn’t expected Emma to give in quite so easily. On the contrary, she had expected her words to goad Emma into going the extra mile; bugging her telephone line, lingering outside windows – an absurd mental image that almost excited Regina.

But she didn’t.

In fact, Emma was perfectly quiet when she came to drop Henry off the following Saturday lunchtime. She lingered in her car, beeped her horn just as Henry was about to enter the house, and Regina watched them exchange a wave. She was sure the smile on Henry’s face – just out of her sight – would be the only one he’d bring with him to the manor today.

As usual, she took his coat to hang, and when she turned saw Henry lingering with his backpack straps in the crook of his elbow, as though contemplating putting it down or not.

I’d welcome the stray shoes littering the stairs, now, Regina thought.

“The tools are in the garden,” She said, and saw a little spark of something register in Henry’s face. “You go on outside, I’ll make us a drink.”

It was a relief, then, when Henry nodded his head and moved through to the kitchen, dropping his backpack down by the back door. He hadn’t forgotten his way around the manor, at least, and yet he shrunk from the place, as though something in his brain was trying to make him register this building as anything but home.

Regina watched him from the kitchen sink, hands grasping at the counter as though another gravitational force was trying to pull her away.

Through the blinds covering the window, she saw Henry in sections: Henry kneeling down; Henry picking up a hand fork and a trowel, trying to remember which one to use first; Henry scratching at the corner of his eye and batting away a fly.

Even while under the curse, she had expected to have a full eighteen years with him – even if he resented her.

His bedroom may be half empty, and every object inside it catalogued in Regina’s mind should it all begin to disappear, one at a time, but Henry had as good as moved out.

She felt his indecision in the items he left behind – a bear she had given him when he was first brought to her, which had outlasted the best of them and retained a spot on top of his wardrobe with the newer teddies.

There were even comic books he had left in piles under his bed. Regina had been through them all, picked out his favourites, the ones he had made her late to work over because he couldn’t decide which to bring in for his class’ Show and Tell.

He would never leave them behind for good, she thought, though wasn’t sure just how reliable her opinion could be. She’d thought the same about herself, after all, and now Henry’s visits were limited to Saturday afternoons, only.

The items gave her hope that, one day, Henry might return – and not just to clear out the rest of his bedroom. She’d preserved his room, right down to the unmade bed, as though ironing out the imprint of his body in the creased sheets would take her that bit further away from him for good.

But there was something so exhausting about it, when she never knew for sure if Henry would forgive her.

The leftover objects may bring her hope, but some nights they were so painful to look upon that she avoided Henry’s room altogether. For while Henry himself was still undecided over whether or not he would return one day, Regina was running on the hope that he would – and hope, unlike her doubts, she had in short supply.

 

“Would you like to take some back with you?” Regina asked, wiping away the sweat from her brow while she watched Henry sucking on a straw.

His eyes lifted to her, and he nodded.

“How about some strawberries, this time?” Regina said, and turned to observe their harvested foods.

Henry shrugged a little and came to her side, both standing over the garden table. The evidence of their gardening lingered in the dirt under their nails, and the grass stains on Henry’s trousers. He reached out for a basket of cabbage, broccoli and kale, pushing it into the shade.

“It’s your plant,” Regina said, and looked to the potted strawberry plant that she had given Henry as part of his birthday present last year.

Henry’s shrugged again.

“Well, how about we eat these now, then?” She took the bowl of strawberries in her hand. “I’ll give them a rinse – I think I have some cream in the fridge. Or would you prefer yogurt?”

“Cream,” Henry supplied, remembering the natural yogurt his mother had last ruined his dessert with. He still wasn’t sure how she managed to stomach it alone.

When she returned, separate bowls in hand, Regina told him, “I’ll package some of this up for you.” She passed Henry a bowl and observed his complexion while he was turned to her. He looked tired. “I’m sure Ms. Swan will be able to find some use for them in the kitchen.”

“Snow might,” Henry offered, and his eyes flashed to Regina as though it was an expletive that had fallen from his lips, and not the name of his grandmother.

For her part, Regina didn’t flinch.

“Emma doesn’t cook much, does she?” She asked, and Henry eyed her closely before turning back to his strawberries.

“Not much,” He quietly agreed.

Regina nodded her head and sunk her teeth into a strawberry. She saw a speck of cream lingering at the corner of Henry’s mouth and wet her lips.

Feeling she was watching him, Henry said to the table, “I can take them, anyway.” He turned to Regina, saw her eyes were somewhere out in the centre of the garden – where he knew the tree stood, its apples purposefully untouched.

“Emma’s learning new stuff to cook, these’ll help.”

Regina turned to him with a smile.

“I’m sure they will.”

 

* * *

 

 

The road leading out of Storybrooke stretched out before Emma like a sea.

Paused at an unnecessary ‘Stop’ sign, she looked on to the cresting forest that loomed around Storybrooke, threatening to consume the town one climbing ivy plant at a time.

She had barely seen Regina when she had come to pick Henry up earlier that day, but felt the weight of her lingering presence on the other side of the manor’s threshold. She was almost certain that Regina had stood watching her, long after they were out of sight, and had sparked up a conversation with Henry if only to calm her nerves.

The kid had brought back with him a basket of vegetables – not the first time that it had happened. Emma had flipped open one half of its lid and peered inside, but the smell alone was enough to have her rearing back.

She could still smell it, now – that earthy, almost sweet scent. The smell of the woods; what she had come to relate back to Regina.

Henry had stored the majority of the basket’s contents in the fridge, and then moved upstairs with a bowl of strawberries and a few conifer-like green leaves that she didn’t know the name of, saying something about online recipes.

Regina’s doing, no doubt.

That earlier resentment began to rise, but for different reasons.

Regina didn’t think Emma could care for Henry. She probably thought Emma would ruin his diet, rot his teeth, teach him bad words.

She’s probably right, Emma thought, and wrought her fingers around the steering wheel a little tighter.

Fuelled by her frustration, she forced the car on. Slowly, at first, it began the drive to the edge of the woods, gradually picking up pace, until Emma heard stray stones and twigs from the uneven road pinging against her car’s exterior.

Soon enough, she came to a stop. She had been unsuccessful in her search so far, and doubted, still, that she would catch a glimpse of life inside the forest – never mind see Regina herself.

Whatever she was planning, Regina knew that Emma was on to her trail. She’d probably stop dancing in the woods altogether, now, and the thought of what her neighbours would make of the spectacle of Regina Mills dancing around her garden at midnight almost had Emma managing a smile.

Stepping out of her car, and with her hands balled into fists, Emma remembered their lunch date – when Regina had approached her unexpectedly and singlehandedly undermined her years as a bail bondsperson in one five minute _conversation_. 

Emma had seen in Regina what she felt in herself – that hopelessness to go on. The ‘why?’ and ‘what for?’ The struggle to recapture an impossible past and force it onto an indeterminable future. And it had terrified her.

Regina Mills was the strongest person Emma knew, and if she couldn’t handle life after the curse, how were any of them expected to make progress?

A familiar hopelessness fell over her like fatigue, and she walked as though shrouded in it, feet heavy and shuffling. An alarm bell sounded, distant, inside her mind as she stepped into the forest, but as she continued walking the sound soon drowned out, as though muffled by thick leaves on tall branches.

She walked until the light of the Bug’s headlights was lost almost completely, flickering through the wind-blown leaves. A lighthouse marking her return to solid ground.

The forest was empty around her, as though something had died and even the wind in the leaves was showing its respects. Emma stumbled once over a tree root, held her palm against its trunk, and her fingers came back sticky with resin. She wiped them on the thigh of her jeans and went on.

Moving towards no clear destination, she came to a stop when she entered a clearing, and tipped her head back to look at the stars. There were so many of them out here, as though little Storybrooke had stolen from the its surrounding cities’ polluted skies their unnoticed diamonds.

In that moment, Emma felt perfectly insignificant.

It didn’t matter that she had a ten year old at home that she didn’t know what to do with, or her real parents babysitting for the fourth time that week. It didn’t matter that she could no longer see the Bug’s guiding light, and walking in the wrong direction could lead her into the heart of the forest, where she was unlikely to be found for days.

It didn’t even matter that Regina was planning something, something that would probably tear apart the family dynamics Emma had already established with Henry and Snow and David. Because a vindictive Regina she could deal with.

As though having been summoned, Emma’s attention left the skies and returned to the earth beneath her feet. She looked to the trees, sensing movement, and knew even before the wispy figure appeared that she was no longer alone.

She was wearing a nightdress, this time, pearl in colour but looking irrevocably pale against Regina’s skin.

Emma stood perfectly still and watched her.

Regina was aware of her presence, and her smiles were all indulgent, though she kept her distance. She was barefoot again, and Emma barely heard the forest floor crunching beneath her steps as she began to walk an irregular circle around the clearing – marking its perimeter.

Or a ring, Emma’s mind provided.

Once done, Regina stopped, and turned inquisitive eyes on Emma. Through the darkness, Emma felt more than saw the pull of Regina’s hand, outstretched again, _wanting_ her.

She stepped forward, but hesitated before she could slip her fingers into Regina’s. She looked at the face in front of her, serene and still smiling, seemingly amused by Emma’s reluctance.

In a voice that was stronger than she currently felt, Emma posed a question to the darkness of the forest, and received only Regina’s rich, deep laughter in response.

“Why are you here?”


	3. Chapter 3

From Regina’s laughter, new life seemed to seep into the forest, all creatures woken at once.

A buzzing pushed at the perimeter of the clearing, filling the air with static tension, and Emma thought she saw a cluster of fireflies burst from the branches of the trees just beyond her right. Even an owl hooted its sudden arrival, setting off a chain reaction of exchanged greetings among the trees.

The noise was too much for the silence that had previously occupied the forest; it had been chased and trapped in the small clearing in which Emma and Regina stood. As though standing side-by-side with a comrade, the moonlight lingered alongside the quietness, all the brighter here, with all those stars overlooking the eerie spectacle of Regina’s supposed sleepwalking.

They’re just as captivated by her as I am, Emma thought, briefly flicking her eyes to the heavens.

Regina was still dancing. She paid more care to her footing, Emma realised, as though suddenly aware that she could step in any number of unpleasant things while barefoot in the forest. A thunderous feeling wracked Emma’s spine as she watched those slow, calculated steps draw Regina along the drooping stems of wild flowers that breached the clearing’s perimeter.

But then Regina tilted her head, still partially veiled by hair, and smiled in Emma’s direction before she went on. It wasn’t quite a beaming smile, and yet Emma felt its full affect somewhere inside her chest, warm and tight and _good_.

She released a held breath and felt the fear expel from her like a deflating balloon. Regina wasn’t conscious, clearly. If Emma got close enough, she’d likely see her dazed expression, and could almost believe that Regina still had her eyes closed, as though in sleep.

She wondered if Regina was aware of what she was doing at all, or if she’d wake up tomorrow morning with dirty feet and a string of shredded dreams.

She wanted to step forward, and she wanted to run back. The forest was bulging around the clearing, and every time Emma would glance at its edge, she was sure that it had decreased at least a few feet each time. She felt bloated and unsure, and particularly annoyed at Regina for having lured her out here, only to then ignore her.

As though feeling the air grow viscous with Emma’s change in attitude, Regina turned around, taking one step closer and then pausing. Her head tilted, eyes holding Emma, face serene. She moved again, arms slightly outstretched, feeling her way. And then she was there, her face before Emma’s, those dark eyes threatening to ensnare something Emma had been holding tight to for as long as she could remember.

Emma could feel her breath on her face, warm and with a hint of peppermint. She could already imagine Regina going through her bedtime routine; combing her hair, lathering her arms in cream, brushing her teeth…

So what the hell had led her out here, then?

Regina was watching her, studying her expression. Her head moved like a bird’s, with faint, barely visible twitches, and Emma was afraid to speak for fear of spooking her. She held her breath, impossibly calm under Regina’s studious gaze.

An age felt to have stretched out around them before Regina made any indication that she was done. She tipped her head to one side again, and Emma caught a flash of starlight cross her eyes as she dropped them down, raking them up Emma’s body so slowly that she shifted under the gaze, practically feeling whatever string of feelings Regina was hiding inside those dark, dark irises pushing against her.

She took an unnecessary step to the side, squared her footing, and met Regina’s eyes.

Amusement flickered within those two dark orbs like dying embers, giving one last fizz of light before the darkness consumed them.

“Hm,” Regina said, and smiled as she looked between Emma’s eyes.

When she took a step forward, Emma felt her body seize up. She managed to raise two hands away from her sides, testing the empty air between Regina’s hips and her own.

“Regina…” It was both a warning and a plea.

“You wouldn’t touch me.”

Emma was at once surprised by how clear the other woman sounded. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting – for Regina’s voice to come out ten octaves lower and vomit to spew out of her rotating head, perhaps – but the effect of Regina’s speech was more soothing than skin-crawling.

She sounded tired, with a slight slur to her voice that Emma had come to recognise in many sleep-talkers (there was always one kid in the homes who would unwittingly divulge their darkest secrets if the rest of them waited up long enough to ask).

Finally, Regina’s words registered, and Emma blinked and asked, “What?”

“Last time,” Regina said, apparently unaffected by the long pause. “You wouldn’t touch me.”

It sounded more like a challenge, then, a cocky barb. Regina began walking a small circle around her, closing in further with every silent footstep, until Emma felt the warmth emanating from her unseen body against her back.

She felt Regina’s breath shifting her hair, and knew that she was leaning close.

Soft as silk, the words carried to Emma’s ear in a whisper: “Don’t you want to touch me, Emma?”

It was difficult, all of a sudden, to maintain an even breathing pattern, and Emma balled her hands into fists. A shiver fell down her spine and, seeing its effect, Regina stepped closer.

“You’re cold,” she cooed, arms encircling Emma’s waist, who stood stock still and barely breathing.

Her arms were rigid, weighed down by her sides, while Regina’s hands slipped inside the jacket – somehow unzipped and gaping open – and over the hidden contours of her ribcage. She shivered again, subconsciously leaning into the touch.

“Oh, you _do_ want to touch me…”

A hand began to slide down her stomach, warm and firm, and Emma stared wide-eyed at a conifer tree right ahead. Only when painted nails pushed at the waistband of her jeans, however, did she react.

“No!” she yelped, and stepped away, clawing the jacket around her.

She took a few steps, breathing laboured, and suddenly felt the cold in the air, as though moments before her body had been on fire. She zipped the jacket back up, turning to find Regina unmoved and smirking.

It was the way the moonlight was hitting her from behind, Emma supposed, that was causing a gaunt shadow to fall over Regina from head to toe, like some kind of webbed veil. It instantly sobered Emma, and she swallowed hard and tried not to allow the sight of that gleaming, silhouetted face with its two shining, unblinking eyes to unnerve her.

“What are you?” she asked without thought, seeing Regina as some kind of terrible raven having landed before her.

Confusion ran the length of the distance between them, the noise of the forest having become so familiar that it was merely ignored – like the blood rushing through Emma’s ears, or the rapidly pumping organ inside her chest.

“You know me,” Regina spoke, finally, her words calm. And then again, “ _You know me_ ,” with an emphasis to each syllable.

Emma fought the urge to shake her head, or run, or scream, because standing before her, she suddenly realised, was a woman she really did not know. It was late at night and she was on the outskirts of town with a known murderer. Suddenly, stepping foot into the woods seemed like the stupidest mistake Emma had made in years.

She turned to the side, because turning her back on Regina right now just wasn’t an option, and attempted to appear unaffected.

“What are you doing out here?”

A shrub shuddered beneath her gaze.

“What’s going on with you?”

She caught movement from the corner of her eye. Regina was walking, as slowly as before, and seemingly less purposeful. Emma turned and saw the way her back was slumped, face tipped at an angle, her dark hair dislodged and uncovering a silky neck.

The moonlight gave her skin a golden hue. Emma wanted to reach out and stroke her fingers along those three barely protruding spinal bones, and then the rest, still hidden beneath her nightdress.

Regina moved toward a fallen tree that had not quite reached the ground, and stroked its slanting bark like she would a horse. Unseen, its leafy top rested against the intersecting branches of another two; a clear diagonal line leading out of the clearing and up to the stars. For a moment, Emma thought Regina was going to mount it.

“Did you take something?” Emma asked, trying in vain to gain the other woman’s attention. Her mind flipped through a list of explanations, each one falling in on the next like the glossy pages of a magazine. “Is it drugs? Or—magic?”

Regina turned to her then, a clarity to her eyes that didn’t quite match the rest of her vacant expression.

“Magic?” Emma asked again, taking a step closer now, expression warning that it was okay, it was fine, Regina had done nothing wrong, just a little slip up, just a little mistake, it’d be okay, there, there…

But Regina only smiled back at her, and with the gesture lost ten years from her age.

“Everything’s okay,” Regina said, slowly. “There is nothing wrong.”

Falling back until her backside hit the slanted tree, Regina splayed her arms out at either side of her, hands settled on the thick trunk supporting her weight. She dropped her head at an angle and smiled again at Emma, who tried to inch forward, step by halting step.

“Is someone doing this to you?” Emma asked, finding a natural stop to her pace. “Regina – shit – what’s going on?”

It would be easy to run – she could probably find her way back, retrace her steps, no problem – but the dramatic change in Regina’s psyche was – _alluring_. Emma couldn’t remember ever seeing her so carefree.

Vaguely, she wondered when the last time Regina had felt happy was – or who had been the last person to see that smile, the one that was too big and too full and made Emma’s throat close up, like she’d never seen anybody smile before.

And it was horrifying, when she really thought about it, because this just wasn’t Regina.

Something on Regina’s face changed then, and the moon and all the stars leant Emma enough light to be able to witness it. She pushed forward away from the trunk, and began again to circle Emma, until the other woman was forced to turn in a small semi-circle so as not to lose sight of her.

“There is nothing going on,” Regina languidly answered, and took a step forward, and then another, until Emma felt forced to take one back. “It’s just the two of us – together – alone in the woods.” A beatific smile lit her face, again. “What could possibly be going on?”

Emma took another couple steps back, until her back met with the up-rooted tree trunk Regina had previously been leaning against. She sucked in a breath, tried Regina’s name on her lips, but a wind picked up and scattered it instead around the forest.

“This isn’t you.”

Regina stepped into her, heat thriving in the space between their bodies.

“On the contrary, _Ms. Swan_ , it is. I am.” She took another step into Emma, until her nightdress pressed against the cotton of Emma’s tank top, her jacket still gaping. “Would you like me to prove it?”

Emma closed her eyes, and through this self-induced darkness found the scent of Regina’s perfume in the air. It was a familiar odour, one unique to the mayor herself, and Emma felt herself moving into it. Regina smiled, stroked her cheek almost proudly.

“I am going to kiss you,” she said, casually enough to cause Emma to open her eyes. “Is that alright?”

She gave Emma a second to answer, and, deeming her response too slow, moved in anyway.

Her lips were soft against Emma’s. Her tongue tasted of mint. Emma’s hands settled over her hips, pressing warmth through the nightdress, sliding around and up her back. She found Regina’s shoulders cold enough to the touch that it restored a semblance of resistance to her otherwise hazy mind.

As though sensing this, Regina stepped further into her, until Emma felt the tree bark digging into her lower back through the jacket she wore. She contented herself, then, to rubbing her hands along Regina’s upper arms.

In turn, Regina’s hands slipped inside Emma’s open jacket. Her fingers ghosted along the sides of her breasts, over her stomach, to the waistband of her jeans and—

Her body stiffened, mouth stopped.

Emma was dropped back into her earlier concern when Regina pulled back and stepped completely away.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, feeling the chill in the air more potently now that she had no warm body with which she could shield her front. “Regina?”

But the other woman merely turned around, the forest crackling beneath her feet, and began to walk back into the trees. Emma had enough sense to catch up with her, but as her fingers reached Regina’s elbow, her name once again on her lips, Regina broke off into a run.

Emma gave chase, but Regina stealthily eluded her, until Emma lost track of her completely.

The woods closed in around her again – she turned this way, and then that – but there was no sign of movement bar the wind, which had returned with vengeance after its previous lapse, in the leaves.

“Regina?” she called, and again, louder, “Regina!”

She spooked a nest of birds, one of which took flight, but received nothing more in terms of a reply.

A muttered curse fell past her lips, her legs beginning to shake as she moved, quickly, breaking into a run and then stopping, changing directions, calling for the missing woman until the tightness in her throat choked out her voice.

She gave a gasp, almost crying, and turned around in a circle. The trees all looked the same. Could she find the clearing again? She turned back on herself, but felt no clarity stir from looking back upon the trail she had ran from that direction.

Cursing again, her breath coming heavy and her chest beginning to sting, she tried to fish her phone out of her pocket, but found her fingers were shaking too badly. She stumbled over a few tree roots, scraped her jacket along rough and sticky bark, and finally was able to close her fingers around her phone.

By this point, whether from the exertion of running or the fear of being lost and helpless, alone, Emma’s vision was blotting. The forest appeared like a crude copy of a child’s painting, whose brush had released excess water along the greens and the browns, causing the colours to merge, the picture to mutate.

She gasped again, barely held back a sob, and then stumbled onto much solider ground.

Staring around her, incredulous, Emma realised that she had found the road. And, not just that, but her Bug was parked a mere twenty metres to her left. With a firm clutch on her phone, she ran to her car, fingers shaking, and let herself in. She locked the doors, and fastened her seatbelt, and brought the engine back to life, all the while attempting to steady her breathing.

Before moving from the spot she had parked in, she flicked on her lights and glanced around. No sight of Regina. It occurred to Emma that she should go back, or else call for back-up, but could count on one hand the people she knew would volunteer for the search party. And what use would it be, for them all to get lost in the forest at night?

Bar this, Emma felt, stronger than she ever had, the need to be among familiar faces. The dark was unnerving her, and her hands still shook about the wheel. She’d just go home. Better yet, she’d pull Henry into the big double bed in her apartment, and they’d have ice cream for breakfast.

Guilt almost overwhelmed her distress, and she turned back to look inside the forest. It looked empty, malignant. Regina wasn’t inside, of this she felt certain. At least, that’s what Emma told herself – over and over again, before and especially after her tossing and turning stirred Henry by her side, and she had to explain what he was doing in her bed, and fully dressed.

The words repeated themselves like a mantra inside Emma’s head, up until the point that she stopped outside Regina’s manor the next morning and caught, from a distance, the head bent and hands busy, turfing weeds from among her flowerbed.

Regina looked up, then, and lifted a hand to perhaps swipe at her forehead, or push her hair back behind her ears, but her eyes caught in Emma’s direction and the limb paused in mid-air.

Regina’s eyes narrowed as she spotted her, hidden once more inside the sunshine yellow frame of her car. And so the stalking continues, she thought, and glowered in Emma’s direction, until she all but turned her back to the woman and returned to her posies. 


End file.
